Oh these times are hard: a lesson in post-concert depression

When I saw Mumford & Sons, I knew I had Coldplay to look forward to. After Coldplay, I had Band of Horses. Following that I had Ed Sheeran, and following Ed I had the Script. But now The Script concert has been and gone, there’s nothing. I’ve got nothing. I wanted words but all I heard was nothing.

The Script

The Script, incidentally, were amazing. I was not sold on the opener whose musical style was essentially the complete opposite of what I like. But when The Script came on, I forgot all about that and just lost myself in their songs. There’s no way I can pick a favourite moment* because they played all but one of the songs I was dying for: no “Glowing” but they did play “I’m Yours” which I wasn’t expecting so it totally made up for it. It left me with that indescribable high that only live music ignites.

But with the glory that was their concert came the realisation that I have nothing coming up. With summer truly over, the weather turning damp and bitter, the burst of musicians coming to my far corner of the world has dried up and all I have to look forward to is exams, southerlies and new seasons of questionable TV shows.

I have decided the cure is to embrace the lack of foreign musicians gracing New Zealand’s distant shores. I’ll go ice-skating when it’s freezing, drink more tea than is necessary, actually save my money instead of blowing it on overpriced shows, go to local bar gigs and fall in love with another band.

Preferably local. Or at least, constantly on tour.

*although Mark getting a note reading “I heart the bald ginger” was rather spectacular.

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